


Hard at Work

by Severina



Category: Live Free or Die Hard (2007)
Genre: Community: smallfandomfest, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-23
Updated: 2015-05-23
Packaged: 2018-03-31 22:15:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3994927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Severina/pseuds/Severina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John's a hard man to work for, especially when there's... complications.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hard at Work

**Author's Note:**

> Written for LJ's smallfandomfest for the prompt "As Lucy's boyfriend Matt has been thinking John is a difficult person to work with."
> 
> * * *

"' _Hurry up with that coding, kid. You gonna take all day?_ '" Matt muttered under his breath as he hunched over his terminal. "You try working with a system that was obsolete back when dinosaurs still walked the earth! Got no money in the budget for upgrades? Then don't expect goddamn miracles. I'm doing the best I can, and it doesn't help to have some overgrown troglodyte breathing down my neck every goddamn—"

"What the hell are you mumbling about, Farrell?" Joe interrupted gruffly.

Matt straightened and squirmed in the uncomfortable chair, eyed Lambert over his monitor. "How can you work with him? He's a tyrant!"

"McClane?"

Matt threw up his hands. "Of course McClane! Who else would I be talking about if not McClane! The guy is on me every second of every day! ' _Where's that analysis, kid? Got those stats yet, kid? Surprised you can even see what you're doing, all that damn hair in your eyes. Wouldn't kill ya to dress up a little, ya know. You even own a shirt with buttons?_ ' Like the way I dress has anything to do with—" Matt flopped back into the chair, then had to grab wildly at the arms when the wonky back nearly sent him tumbling to the floor. "And this system hasn't been updated since the fucking Eisenhower administration! Yet there's McClane, hovering over me every ten minutes, giving me attitude!"

"What do you expect?" Kowalski said mildly. "You're dating his daughter."

Matt blinked. "What? What does that have to do with… there is no basis for… and anyway, no! I'm not… exactly… It's… I wouldn't call it dating."

"Then what would you call it, kid?"

"We went to see Transformers! It was one time. One time! Geez, she didn't even let me buy her popcorn. Which is good, because with Bowman taking my fifty grand I have, like, about two dollars in my savings account until I get paid. Which explains why I took this pathetically shitty job instead of waiting for someone to hire me that truly appreciates my skills." Matt waved a hand in the air. "That movie sucked, by the way. Don't waste your money."

"A movie about cars turning into giant robots not having any cinematic value," Joe put in dryly. "Oh, the shock."

"Listen, Farrell," Kowalski said. "You picked her up—"

"Huh? No. Lucy met me at the theatre and we—"

"—you spent two or three hours with her, you might have gone for a drink afterward—"

"She said she had summer class in the morning, so I left her at the subw—"

"—then you took her home," Kowalski finished. "That, my scrawny friend, is a date."

Matt huffed out a breath. "None of that happened, Connie!"

"Did you or did you not put your arm around her in the theatre?" Joe asked.

"No!"

"Why not?"

Matt frowned. "Why not?"

Joe shrugged. "It's a simple question, kid. She's a pretty girl, it's dark, maybe there's something scary happening up there on the big screen…"

Matt shook his head. "Look, have you _met_ Lucy McClane? She will dislocate your elbow if you look at her the wrong way. It's intimidating, and totally not in the good way. I don't even… I barely know her. It just… it wasn't right."

"So you don't like her," Joe said flatly.

"I never said that," Matt protested. "Look, maybe she's not my type."

"Then who's your type?"

"What does this have to do with… it doesn't even matter—"

Joe raised a brow. "What, you don't like brunettes, is that it?"

"It's not… it has nothing to do with hair colour, what kind of superficial asshole do you think—"

"Then what, kid?" Kowalski said. "She's not pretty enough?"

"She's super pretty! I just don't—"

"Then why didn't you go for it? She too smart for you? You feel threatened by smart girls, is that it?"

"I _like_ smart girls!" Matt argued. "I like all kinds of… intellectual discourse is one of the finest… look, what is this, an interrogation? I already told you—"

"She's not your type," Joe repeated. "So who is your type, Farrell?"

"Yeah, kid," Kowalski said. "Who's your type? That's all we're trying to discuss here."

"Not a big deal," Joe said. "Just wanna know what sets the alarm bells ringing for ol' Matthew Farrell, that's all."

Kowalski nodded. "Who gets the home fires burning, kid?"

"Who do ya wanna push down onto the futon and have your wily way with?"

"John, okay?" Matt yelled. "John's my type!"

Matt hadn't realized how loud they'd been getting until the sudden silence dropped on the room. He felt the blush start on his cheeks and quickly huddled behind his monitor, buried his head in his hands and considered his options. He could totally say that he was joking, except he'd have had to have done that immediately instead of hiding behind his computer like a chickenshit, so that was kind of out. Laugh it off as a hero worship thing, since McClane saved his life about forty times? Possible, but the thought of doing so irked him. It's wasn't hero worship and it wasn't a crush, and to insist it was seemed to diminish it. Sadly, grabbing his bag and running from the room with his tail between his legs seemed to be the best option.

"Huh," Joe said quietly.

Matt peered cautiously over the top of his monitor.

Connie grinned. "You owe me twenty bucks, Lambert."

"Damnit," Joe muttered.

"Wait," Matt said. "You… knew? But how could you—"

"Speak to you outside a minute, kid?"

Matt knew he should have taken the grab-the-bag-and-run option when he had the chance. He closed his eyes briefly, all the better to ignore the smirk on Kowalski's face, before swiveling in his chair to face John. McClane's bulk filled the doorway, and Matt suppressed a shiver that was half anxiety and half arousal before pushing himself up from the rickety chair. "Sure, McClane," he answered, proud that his voice came out sounding… well, if not normal, at least not like he was shaking in his sneakers. It was a start.

"Got a double or nothin' option for ya, Lambert," he heard Connie say before the door swished shut behind him.

Every nerve ending in his body was screaming at him to run, but he leaned against the wall and crossed his arms at his chest, aimed for casual with a tilt of his head and a slightly raised eyebrow. There was absolutely no proof that McClane heard a thing, after all. False bravado was definitely the way to go. Move along, nothing to see here, folks.

"Hey," he said.

John inclined his head toward the closed door. "Lot of commotion in there," he said.

"Uh." Matt followed his gaze to the frosted glass before shrugging and turning back. "You know how it is with programmers. All that adrenaline zipping through our systems, living on Pepsi and pop rocks. We get crazy, start bouncing off the walls."

"Uh huh," John said dryly. "You got that analysis done?"

"I'm working on it," Matt said.

"Workin' on it?" John griped. "Jesus, kid, I gave it to ya three days ago."

This again? Matt gritted his teeth, lifted a hand to sweep it through his hair. ""I can't work miracles, McClane, all right? Three days is barely enough time to set up the search parameters, never mind reprogram an entire system that was designed when—"

"Yeah, yeah," John said dismissively. "You know, kid, all you've done since I took you on is whine and cry about the damn system. I thought you were supposed to be some kind of hot-shot punk hacker?"

"Since you took me on?" Matt sputtered, pushing off from the wall. "Don't you mean since I took pity on your sorry ass and decided to try to bring this department out of the dark ages? Single-handedly, I might add! One of your systems was still running DOS, for christ's sake! I could be working anywhere, but noooooo, the NYPD comes knocking at my door and like an idiot I sign up. I’m good, you know, I could—"

"Good, huh? Then why ain't the analysis finished?"

"I just told you—"

"Maybe," John interrupted, "if you weren't so busy havin' masturbatory fantasies about your boss you'd have more time to get your damn work done."

Matt blinked, the retort he'd planned instantly fading from his mind as McClane's words sunk in. "Uh…"

"Close your mouth, kid."

Matt snapped his mouth shut so fast he felt it reverberate in his jawline. His gaze slipped to the door as he wiped a hand over his suddenly dry mouth. "So… um… so you heard that?"

"Every fuckin' word."

A dozen possible scenarios slipped through Matt's fertile mind, but he figured he ought to eliminate the most likely one first. He swallowed nervously, but met McClane's eyes. If he was going to go out, at least he'd face it like a man. "Are you going to kill me?"

John took a step closer, then another, until Matt thought that all he'd have to do is take a heavy breath for their chests to brush together. The thought made him more weak-kneed than he already was, and it was all he could do to keep his eyes on McClane's as the gap closed. 

"What I'm going to do," John said slowly, "is take you out for dinner on Friday night. You got a problem with that?"

For a moment Matt was pretty sure that there was some kind of terrorist attack going on in the precinct, because all of the air was being sucked from the room. His layered shirts felt too hot, stifling him; his limbs were immobile, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. He couldn't breathe, couldn't move, could barely think. 

But no. It was just McClane being… well… McClane. 

"N… no," he finally managed to gasp out. 

"Good," John said. When his gaze dipped to Matt's lips Matt held his breath, but then John nodded and stepped away and Matt could suddenly feel the air conditioning again, cold on his sweat-soaked skin; hear the clatter of the old-school typewriter in the room down the hall and muted voices from the open stairwell. He shivered when his limbs unlocked, blinked the hair out of his eyes and tried to replay the conversation again in his head. The last five minutes felt surreal. 

He blinked again and followed McClane's progress up the stairs, then felt his chest tighten when the man hesitated and turned back. He cursed himself for being a complete idiot. Now he understood. Now McClane would laugh and say 'got ya, kid' and Matt would have to smile wanly and pretend he was in on the joke the whole time and slink back into the room and listen to Kowalski and Lambert ribbing him about hazing the new kid and--

But McClane merely cocked his head. "Was that intimidating in the good way?" he asked.

"Jesus, McClane," Matt breathed out.

John's lips quirked. "Gonna take that as a yes."

Matt watched him until he disappeared around the bend in the stairs, then stayed outside in the hallway a few minutes more until he could be reasonably sure that his cheeks weren't flaming like a beetroot. He steeled himself for the laughter and teasing that he was sure were coming, but when he pushed open the door Kowalski and Lambert both had their heads buried in their paperwork. He swiped a hand over his chin before crossing to his own workstation and pulling out his chair, and for a few minutes the only noise was the ticking of the oversized clock on the wall and the click of the keyboard under his fingers.

"Hey, Joe," Connie finally called out.

"Yeah, Kowalski?"

"You owe me another twenty bucks."

He didn't raise his eyes when the cackling and catcalling started, but he did take a moment to flip them both the bird. Then he smiled.

He had a date with John McClane. Let them laugh.


End file.
